


Nothing without you

by HanaSheralHaminail



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fal-tor-pan, Lots of it, M/M, Old Married Spirk Challenge, Song Lyrics, T'hy'la, Vienna Teng - Freeform, but also sweet love?, i would say this is the epitome of, old married spirk, spock getting back his memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 22:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16649242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaSheralHaminail/pseuds/HanaSheralHaminail
Summary: After the Fal-tor-pan, Spock finds himself bereft, confused and unable to define his relationship with his Captain and friend. Torn between a present he does not entirely belong to and a past he cannot fully comprehend, he struggles against his mind and the conflicting feelings drawing him to Jim.Does he dare reach for him? Can he find a way to bridge the distance between them? Will he remember the meaning of t'hy'la?





	Nothing without you

**Author's Note:**

> So it appears Fal-tor-pan fics are my jam - I just can't pass up a good amnesia and found memories trope... And it works so well for Spirk, especially oms!
> 
> I hope I did it justice - this fic is from Spock's POV, depicting his inner struggles, his desire to be what he once was and the fear he has of his own feelings and needs. And of course his love for Jim. It's in no way related to 'Say my name', but I would say it's somewhat parallel to it? 
> 
> Anyhow, please read on and thanks for giving it a chance!

**_Nothing without you_ **

****

_It’s the quiet night that breaks me_

_I cannot stand the sight of this familiar place_

 

On Vulcan, the night was clear, stars bathing Amanda’s garden in a pool of silvery light, air pleasantly cool.

Spock walked among the plants, clad in a robe of pure white, feet bare as he escaped his father’s house and the people who had found asylum there – escaped their strange, too-familiar voices and their expectant gazes shadowing his every step and the soft whispers in which they discussed him, the joy on their faces whenever they saw him.

He could not understand, therefore he fled.

He fled because it was too much, too new, and he was unequipped to deal with such emotion, with those great, confused expectations, with the need he had to meet their needs: they had returned his life to him and he did not even recognise them, they had given him everything yet he had nothing to give back for it.

He was empty.

Terran flowers surrounded him, and he stopped to admire their shapes and colours, each unique in their own regard; he could name every last one of them, list their origin, recommend the best types of soil to grow them in, but that kind of knowledge held no true meaning.

Those flowers were to him as inconsequential as any other flower on Earth, and the years he had spent as a child hiding among their sweet scent were entirely lost on him – he knew he had lain into the grass to watch the passing of time, to read and study and occasionally cry; he knew, but he did not remember.

Repressing a sigh because there was no logic in displaying emotion, he walked on to the most secluded area of the garden, hoping for some solitude.

Beneath the flowing canvas of a willow’s branches, Jim – Admiral Kirk – sat on a stone bench, arms folded in his lap and head thrown back to stare at the sky. The Vulcan halted immediately, holding his breath. It seemed to him as if he was intruding on something private, something secret – like he was not supposed to witness the disquieting blend of grief and gratitude that washed over the human’s lined face, like his mere presence would upset the balance of the universe.

The Admiral noticed him at once, of course – when did he not? – and beckoned, inviting him closer. Rooted on the spot, Spock merely glanced at him.

“I was just looking for some quiet,” the human told him, as if to justify his absence from the house. “You know, sometimes it gets… too much.”

The Vulcan understood. He nodded slowly, finally mustering the strength to take a few steps towards the elegant tree, walking into its shadow. “I can admit to a similar wish.”

“Do you want me to leave?” the Admiral readily asked, even if he had been the first to arrive, even if he was so tired and beaten and his fingers were curled around the edges of the bench as if he was attempting to carve grooves in the stone.

And yes, Spock wanted him to leave, nearly as much as he desired him never to, and the polarities his nature spawned dizzied him and frightened him and fuelled his need to flee; he feared he would humiliate himself if he ever tried to think too carefully about the things his mind wished to show him, the feelings it wished to birth.

“That will not be necessary.” Lifting the hems of his robe so it would not brush the dewy grass prickling his feet, Spock turned his back to the willow and the human and the concern filling his hazel eyes to the brim.

“Then won’t you stay?” There was a hint of desperation in Kirk’s voice, a little hope. He had yet to move, but somehow the Vulcan could feel him tensing, feel his attention riveted on him, drawing him in.

He paused. “For what purpose?” he inquired, curious, wanting to understand, wanting him to reveal all the things that were left unsaid – unknown – between them.

When the Admiral offered him no answer but a growing silence, he made to return to the house, to his room he did not recognise, to his mind that would not obey him, to all he had been, all he should still be and yet could not become. He walked carefully, upset for some reason and because of this wary he might fall, trip on his own feet and invite Kirk’s help, Kirk’s touch that never failed to throw him off balance.

“So beautiful,” the human murmured, a breath of words, and though Spock knew he wasn’t meant to hear, he couldn’t help but turn towards him, towards that stranger that called to his soul, defining it with every smile bestowed upon him, every gentle touch, far better than the Masters of Gol who had returned his knowledge to him ever could.

_So beautiful_ , the Admiral had said. _Beautiful…_

_“You’re beautiful,” his Captain tells him warmly, hands sliding over his velvety robe, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles as he fusses over him. “Don’t be so tense.”_

_Spock catches his fingers with his own, holds him close, the contact they share a wonderful thing, reaching into his mind to paint it in the colours of devotion; Jim’s hazel eyes are fixed on him, swimming in feeling, and the Vulcan could easily lose himself in their depths that are brighter than the starlit universe, brighter than the sun itself._

_The lights around them are dim and yet they catch so perfectly on the Captain’s golden hair and skin and dress shirt. Spock thinks fleetingly of the desert sands – Jim is just as unpredictable and powerful, and just as comforting – before he softly combs through the fine locks to give them a semblance of order._

_“I am not tense,” he denies._

_Jim laughs and the Vulcan basks in it. “Sure you are, hon,” the Captain chirps. Wrapping a secure hold around his elbow, he guides him towards the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”_

Spock blinked, tearing himself away from the memory – that collection of strangely blurred impressions, shadows and scents and tastes that left him unsatisfied and reeling – and stared at the Admiral in stunned silence, imagining the touch of those hands on his skin, the feel of that unruly hair between his own fingers…

“Spock?”

The human’s voice was quiet, weary. It seemed as if he had endured a thousand years of pain after that memory – and yet his light still burned bright in the Vulcan’s eyes, brighter than the stars above, brighter than _T’Khut_ that hovered so close to the planet, filling the sky in her iridescent hues.

“Should you not rest, Admiral?”

He wondered why it was that the human kept his distance; why his smile held traces of sorrow and loss, why he gazed at him so heavily. The ghost of a past intimacy Spock couldn’t even begin to understand the extent of hung inside the garden, an open chasm swallowing the space between them, and the bridges they had built in over a decade of companionship had crumbled, leaving nothing behind but the Vulcan’s confusion.

Spock didn’t know how to reach for him anymore, didn’t even know that he should, and so he stood still and cold and detached, wrapped in the disciplines that had enabled him to regain control of his empty mind, fill it with logic and facts and notions.

But there was something missing, something he was certain the Admiral would provide, if only the Vulcan asked, if only his soul wasn’t trapped in this suffocating silence he was incapable of breaking. If only he could bring back the words, if only he could _name_ the world around and within.

He had named himself because the human had called him Spock.

“You’re right, Spock, I should rest,” the Admiral mused after far too long a pause. “But the night is too beautiful to sleep.”

His hazel eyes lingered on him when they should have been trailed upon the stars. He did not ask Spock to join him on the stone bench, and so the Vulcan did not go, frozen in his own confused desires.

Was it him who had drawn the line between them, who kept it alive and insurmountable, who refused to step across it and forced the human to do the same?

They spent the night together, but they were so _apart_.

* * *

_It’s the quiet night that breaks me,_

_Like a dozen papercuts that only I can trace_

* * *

Standing at the door to Kirk’s room Spock hesitated.

It was already past one in the morning, and he had no reason to believe the human would be awake – no reason except for the instinctual knowledge he held that the Admiral, like he, had not slept much during the course of the previous week. So he stared at the opaque glass his father had always been fond of and waited for a logical reason to knock, to request permission to be admitted in his _friend_ ’s soothing presence again.

Fifteen point eleven minutes had already passed since the Vulcan had made his way across the empty corridor, clutching his thin robe about himself as he wondered what had prompted him to leave his room, to seek comfort from a stranger – from a man who held his very soul within his hands.

Perhaps the Admiral’s idea of Spock was truer to him than he himself was.

He took a deep breath and prepared to leave – he could not face the human with his turmoil, could not face the undeserved affection spilling from his eyes, his expression that screamed _you’re a miracle, a miracle._

_I adore you_.

The Vulcan was not blind, nor was he stupid: he saw how high Kirk’s regard of him was, though he could not fathom the reasons behind it; he saw the longing that darkened his gaze, felt the sparks that travelled from his warm skin whenever they touched. But there was no way for him to reciprocate a feeling he could not fully understand, so he shied away from it even though he desired nothing but to linger.

It would have been unethical – it would have been downright cruel – to lead the Admiral into believing he remembered, that all the secrets they had shared and he had kept were still safe within his mind, when he could barely begin to describe the things he had been shown after his katra had been returned to him.

“Spock?”

Kirk’s voice caught him as he began to walk away, and the Vulcan swirled around to meet him, stared at his ragged appearance, at the crumpled uniform he was still wearing under a wide shirt, at the deep shadows darkening his searching eyes.

“Spock, were you looking for me?” he asked, stepping into the corridor – towards him, always seeking him. “Is there something you need?”

Spock wished he knew what it was that he needed. And now he had disturbed the Admiral, was probably keeping him from his much-required rest, and the open look of concern on that golden face was fuelling his guilt. Gently, the human’s fingers ghosted over his elbow, and the Vulcan let himself be guided inside the dimly-lit room, to sit on the untouched bed.

Again, Kirk called his name, softly, in that special way of his that made the word sound like an endearment, a compliment. He stood before him, open and welcoming and so very patient, and once again Spock wished he could capture his essence, name it, explain the turmoil that it awakened within his troubled mind.

“I apologise,” he began, pressing the tips of his fingers together to centre himself, even when he could still feel the imprint of the human’s warmth on his elbow and it seemed to be the only thing he could focus on. “I did not wish to intrude, I…”

The Admiral – Jim – knelt before him so they were face to face, and his eyes were full of compassion, shining like liquid honey under the sun. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, smiling so tenderly that Spock felt his heart constrict in response. “It’s okay to ask.”

_“It’s okay to ask,” Jim firmly says, grasping both of his arms to pull him close, closer than ever, chests pressed together and his Captain’s warm breath fanning along the side of his neck as he speaks. “You always ask for what you need, okay?”_

_Spock trembles finely as he’s embraced, gritting his teeth together so they do not chatter, and as Jim rubs his palms along his back to create friction and heat he thinks he has finally managed to get as close to the sun as possible, so close in fact that he could easily melt in his infinite, caring nature…_

_The freezing wind bites at his nose and ears, and he bows his head to bury his face in the human’s shoulder, curling within him as he’s shielded from the unforgiving snow around him. “It’s okay,” Kirk murmurs again, guiding him so his hands are folded between their bodies, above his Captain’s beating heart._

_The Vulcan listens to that sound and it suddenly feels as if he could live his entire life by its rhythm._

_“I’ll find shelter and we can wait for the_ Enterprise _to pick us up,” Jim continues, thankfully clueless to the direction Spock’s thoughts have taken. His palms come to rest over his First Officer’s waist, fingers spreading to provide as much warmth as possible. “It’s going to be okay.”_

_Spock believes him._

A chill ran down the Vulcan’s spine from the remembered cold, and the Admiral’s keen eyes zeroed in on the nearly imperceptible motion, lips thinning in worry as he examined his hunched form.

“Oh, Spock, you’re shivering, look at you…” Without wasting another second, he shed his shirt and wrapped it around him like a blanket, bathing him in his scent and his warmth.

Spock caught the hems of the plaid fabric – so soft, so comforting, so inexplicably familiar – and pulled it close, looking down at the human with a thousand questions on his face, none of which made sense even to him. “Thank you,” he whispered instead.

“Of course,” the human said easily. “So will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I could not sleep,” the Vulcan admitted softly. “Nor could I meditate.”

At once, the Admiral’s hand came to rest upon his knee in what seemed to be an instinctual response to his pain, and when he made to retract it, apologise for the invasion of privacy, Spock held him back with fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist.

For long minutes, they were still. The desert wind blew cool from the open window, carrying scents from far away, catching on the human’s curly hair, and the light from _T’Khut_ bled purple upon his charming face.

“Did you want company?”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

A soft sigh escaped the Vulcan’s pursed lips. He slid towards the end of the bed, wordlessly making room for the Admiral to sit, and finally voiced the question that had been plaguing him for the past days: “Should you not return to Earth? To Starfleet?”

Kirk crossed his arms and Spock watched, captivated, as he traced his thumb along the supple line of his lower lip. “We will, eventually. When the ship’s fully repaired, when…” He glanced at him, seemingly gauging his expression, the disquiet he could not fully conceal. “When you’re better.”

“Do you expect me to return with you?” the Vulcan asked, and perhaps that had been the worst way to phrase it, perhaps he had chosen the wrong words in the wrong order, because the human grimaced and turned away, robbing him of the warmth of his eyes.

“I don’t expect anything from you, Spock,” he said tersely, honestly, but he spoke to the window, not him, hiding from him like it hurt to speak those things, to renounce that claim. “You’re free to do as you please.” He took a deep breath, shook his head, squared his shoulders. Finally, he looked back at him. “But I will not leave you now, like this.”

Spock swallowed down his dangerous question that wanted to know _why_ , and instead he very carefully reached out to touch the human’s arm in gratitude and maybe reassurance he was not sure how to provide. “When the time comes for you to go, I will go with you,” he told him, meeting his surprised gaze with an earnest one of his own. “It is my choice.”

The Admiral smiled, and the Vulcan was left to wonder how it was that he felt like smiling at him too.

* * *

_All my books are lying useless now_

_All my maps will only show me how to lose my way_

* * *

Spock meditated at dawn. Inside the garden, he knelt under the rising sun and breathed deeply of the scented air, relaxing his body until it fell into a pleasant drowsiness. The sounds of life around him faded in the background and he forgot himself as minutes morphed into hours and he plunged further and further into his mind.

It was shattered, void; the new bonds that had sprung to life to form the _k’war’ma’khon_ the moment his katra had been returned to him were suspended into a nothingness that should have been filled with memories and feelings and tastes and flavours and experiences and sounds…

Aside from the obvious sterile nature of the knowledge stored within his brain, he found that something else – not mere practicality, not the past itself and the recognition it would bring, something _other_ , something vital – was missing when it had once lit his mind in a million blinding stars; now its absence left him barren and cold.

So cold in fact that he did not notice the sun climbing up or the growing heat, nor did he realise he required hydration, so absorbed he was in his puzzlement and the flashes of unintelligible impressions dancing through his befuddled mind; it was as if he had been chasing a ghost, the idea of a thought, and it was unreachable and evanescent and frustrating because he _needed_ it, needed it to understand, to re-build his very self around.

His head was spinning, light, curiously detached from his body – he felt faint – perhaps he might fall.

Yes, he distantly considered, he was surely going to fall.

“Spock!” The sound of his name cut through his lethargy like a blade, and he snapped his eyes open to find the blurry image of Admiral Kirk bending over him, both hands grasping tightly at his shoulders. The expression painted over his tanned face was so, so familiar… as was the feeling that the human was the only thing holding him together, that his mere presence was enough for him to gather his strength anew. Maybe he should not be leaning the entirety of his weight on him…

“Oh, God, Spock, are you alright?”

_“Spock, are you alright? Spock!” Jim’s hands are frantic on his body as he clutches him to himself, into his warmth. Through his dizzy stupor, Spock feels that damp breath fanning over his left cheek, feels those fingers dipping into his skin, feels that human heart beating against his back, and he wants to reply, he really does, wants to tell his Captain he is alright, especially now that he’s wrapped in his touch and emotion._

_Perhaps it is for the best that he cannot seem to move, not even to speak._

_In his supreme confusion he can barely make out the sensation of Jim’s palms cupping the wound at his side, but his voice is startingly clear in his ears, soft and full of worry: “Spock, come on, talk to me!”_

_Again, Spock tries for his mouth, purses his lips that are heavy as lead. “Jim.”_

_“Yes, I’m here, don’t you dare die on me!”_

_The Vulcan thinks distantly that he would be extremely pleased to obey. He always follows his Captain’s orders without fail, after all: he is not to die if Jim does not wish it. And the human’s demands are strong, forcing his tired mind to stay anchored to a reality that is slowly losing consistency._

_“Jim,” he says again, and it’s the only meaning left into his mind. He must have lost an impressive amount of blood…_

_A caring, wet touch on his cheek, tilting his head up, and he opens bleary eyes to meet a golden gaze. “Hey,” Jim murmurs. “Stay with me.”_

Always _, Spock thinks. But he doesn’t have the will to form out that word. He trusts his Captain to care for him, and he slips into darkness._

“Admiral,” Spock said, in a softer tone than he expected. “I am quite alright.”

“Like hell you are!” the Admiral spat at him, not relinquishing his hold on him; the lines on his face had deepened in worry, hazel eyes reflecting the sun in a dark, distorted way – Spock averted his gaze because he could not bear the mute accusation directed at him. “You must come back inside, get up.”

With the human’s help, the Vulcan gathered his legs beneath himself and stood, wobbling a little as blood rushed back to numbed limbs. “You need not trouble yourself, Admiral, I can manage.”

Kirk tightened his grip around his arm and set his jaw. “Don’t tell me what I need or don’t, Mister!” That stony tone made him wish to cower. “Damn you, Spock, _you_ need to take better care of yourself!”

The Vulcan blinked from the force of the human’s emotions, from the hard glint in his eyes – but perhaps it was he who was at fault, perhaps he should consider the implications of the Admiral’s outburst, all that he had sacrificed just so that Spock could be saved; neglecting himself really did seem as a slight to that unparalleled devotion.

“I apologise, Admiral,” he said slowly. He adjusted easily to Kirk’s hold and allowed him in his support, because on some level he sensed that the human needed this, the assurance that he was alive. “I will try.”

The Admiral’s animosity faded at once and he offered him his sorrowful smile, letting his fingers slide down the soft sleeve of the meditation robe the Vulcan wore, gingerly holding on to his wrist. Spock thought that from that to an _ozh’esta_ it was only a little way further but he kept still, walking close enough to the human that their shoulders occasionally brushed.

“Are you better now?” Kirk asked him gently. “I can fetch you a glass of water, just go lie down.”

“It is no matter,” Spock said, unwilling to detach himself just yet from the human’s familiar touch – and from the memory of it running all over him as he bled into the purple grass of an alien planet. “I will accompany you.”

The hand around his wrist tightened a little in response, and Spock had to restrain the urge to peek into the Admiral’s mind – what would he find there? Would he find his answers? Would he find himself within Jim’s loving thoughts? Could he return to belonging to that definition of _Spock_ , or was it lost forever?

But he had been taught never to breach the sanctity of another’s mind – no matter how certainly he believed such a breach would be welcome – and so he let the human slip away, and drank the water he was offered (and what a dear gift it was on a desert planet…) and was silent under his affectionate gaze.

* * *

_Oh call my name_

_You know my name_

_And in that sound everything will change_

* * *

Inside the garden, Spock and Kirk sat on the stone bench by the willow tree, watching the sun go down.

“Sunsets are the one thing I always missed when we were in space,” Jim mused, head tilted back, face nearly glowing with the beauty of his awe and the light flowing into the transparent dome.

Entranced, the Vulcan stared at him, curious about his stories, always curious, because he had read the reports of their missions, had listened to the official logs, but the difference between what had been recorded and what the Admiral chose to share with him was abysmal. “I expect the view from the ship’s Observation Decks would rival a sunset,” he pointed out.

Kirk’s eyes widened, specks of green catching in his irises as he swirled around to glance at him. “You always said that,” he told him, voice vibrating with a kind of hope that made Spock’s insides twist in bitter guilt. “You said that from the _Enterprise_ , you could see planets disappear behind their suns, and that a single sunset could never compare.”

He paused, took a deep breath as he studied the Vulcan’s blank expression. “You don’t… remember that,” he murmured, folding his arms around his chest as if to physically hold himself together. “I’m sorry.”

Spock stood, back to him because he could not withstand the sight of such pain, and he cleared his throat. “The elders suggested _Kolinhar_ as a means of piecing my mind back together,” he said, wanting to offer some tangible proof of his willingness to get his past back, to save their relationship.

Silence spread dark and ugly between them; when it became too much, the Vulcan stole a quick glance at the human, and shivered: he had paled, he looked like he had received Death’s final kiss, and when he finally spoke he was nearly chocking on his words. “Are you going to try?”

“I am unsure,” Spock answered immediately, following the line of the horizon with his gaze as if he might find his truths there. “I understand I made the attempt once, but failed.”

“You didn’t fail. You left.” Kirk too had gotten back up on his feet, and he stood now just a step behind him; the Vulcan felt his mental presence wash over his shields, and the impression of sickly anguish it conveyed nearly had him double over in sympathetic nausea. “Your answers were elsewhere.”

Cocking his head to the side, Spock chanced another glance at him and decided to voice a sliver of what he had gathered from the shreds of returned memories the Admiral had awakened within his mind. “With you?” he guessed, giving no particular inflection to his tone but a quiet, barely-there hint of trepidation.

“Yes,” Jim admitted easily, the ghost of a smile softening his expression just a little.

“Do you believe I should…?”

As he had expected, the human interrupted his question before it was even truly begun. “It’s your choice,” he very firmly said. “If the elders think it could be good…”

“I would know your opinion, Admiral,” Spock pressed, knowing he would never make a choice that would hurt his companion unless it really was the only way, the best way, the way back to himself – to them?

Kirk breathed deeply through his nose. It was… strange, how the Vulcan seemed to latch on to every little gesture, every hint of vaguely familiar humanity that shone through the Admiral’s composed mask of open congeniality.

“My opinion? My selfish, _human_ opinion?” Jim asked, still looking everywhere but at him, restless even as he did his best to conceal it. “Don’t do it. _Kolinhar_ already broke you once, and damn, you’ve gone through so much…” He brought a hand up to massage his temples, and Spock fleetingly thought that he might be suffering from a headache, or a migraine, and that perhaps one day – soon – he should enquire about it, to see if something could be done to heal him.

“God, Spock, I need you.”

_“I need you,” Jim says and Spock falters._

_The last vestiges of his composure shatter completely, obliterated by the golden light shining in the Captain’s – Admiral’s – eyes, from the affection vibrating in his voice. The Vulcan turns his back on him, staring off into the stars, and suddenly he wants to weep like he has wept on the bridge for V’ger’s plight – for the pain and confusion and dissatisfaction that have been his too for far too long._

_He does not deserve Jim’s kindness, he thinks, not after the way he left, without a word, without goodbye… fleeing himself and his own mind, fleeing the things that bound him to his friend, the need he had of him._

_“Spock?”_

_It’s soft, the way Kirk speaks his name, like a long-forgotten cherished word, like he hasn’t allowed himself to say it in the past three years when they’ve been apart, like he missed it. “Spock.”_

_Spock wonders how he could have ever believed to exist within himself without that word to define him, remind him who and what he is, all the things he can achieve. “Yes, Jim?”_

_“Won’t you look at me?”_

_Shivering minutely, the Vulcan turns to face him, and he sees the sun stare back at him; he does not know that he can bear such light, he only knows that he never wishes to be parted from it, that he was a fool to refuse the warmth, the acceptance that Jim has offered him so selflessly over and over and over since the very first day they met._

_Kirk won’t touch him, not now, not after the distance Spock has forced between them, and he feels his heart constrict with guilt and regret, and he wants to kneel before him and beg forgiveness. Instead he very carefully lifts a hand to trail his fingers down the beloved face, feather-light and reverent, tracing the shape of a smile that blooms and glows and heals._

_“I am so sorry, Jim,” he whispers, honest and raw as he bares his soul to him, letting his emotions spill forth for once even though they terrify him, because his Captain will understand them far better than he ever could, understand the sheen of tears wetting his eyes and the way his lower lip quivers just so when he thinks of the months he has wasted trying to deny himself. “I do not need to search anymore.”_

_“I know, Spock,” Kirk tells him gently, and then he’s reaching for him too and the ache in Spock’s mind melts away into the human’s embrace, into the caring hands sliding around his back, the familiar scent that envelops him once again. Jim’s heart beats a steady rhythm against his chest, and he finally finds the peace that has eluded him for so long. “I know.”_

_“I need you,” Spock whispers into his Captain’s shoulder, and it’s liberating to finally say the words aloud, to share his truth with his beloved. “I only ever needed you…”_

“I will not leave,” Spock said, turning back to Kirk as if expecting to see that same gaze of his memory, but the Admiral was worn, his light dimmed, wariness in his warmth and the way he approached him – so careful, so slow, forever fearing to send him running, drawing boundaries between them just so he could keep him, and it was painful to watch, painful to know there was no other option…

“If _Kolinhar_ has not worked before, I see no logical reason why it would work now.”

Jim let out a relieved sigh, trying to be subtle about it, and the Vulcan appreciated the attempt, the decision he’d made to leave him free to forge his own path, when everyone else seemed intent on pushing him this way and that – his father his mother the elders the doctor…

“I’m glad,” the Admiral honestly told him, laying a soothing touch on his shoulder. “But I wish I could do more for you.”

Spock briefly considered covering that human hand with his own, but he wasn’t sure how to even interpret that desire, so he settled for stepping closer to him, close enough that he felt his heat bathe his right side. It was… right. Fitting.

“How can I help you?” Jim asked, and his touch slipped down until he circled the Vulcan’s waist with his arm, and for a while they just stood together, leaning against each other into the garden. “What do you need?”

_I only ever needed you_ , Spock thought. “I am not certain,” was what he answered. “But I am grateful for your presence.”

“You will always have it.”

* * *

 

_Tell me it won’t always be this hard_

_I am nothing without you,_

_But I don’t know who you are_

* * *

In 20 th Century Earth, the Admiral brought him a pizza and told him he’d love it –  _I love Italian and so do you_ , Spock had wondered at the forcefulness of his insistence, and perhaps sharing those meals had been a habit of theirs, a part of their day-to-day life that the human cherished.

Still a little rattled from Kirk’s outburst of before (“Spock, you’re talking about the end of every life on Earth! Haven’t you got any goddamned feelings about that?” And it had shaken him to have the human’s anger directed at him like that, it had stung far more than it should have, and he had tried to find a reason for this but he had not) he sat by him inside the Klingon ship, looked down at the rudimentary carton and waited.

The Admiral had cut the pizza in even slices and had picked one up for himself, eating it gracefully despite the leaking oil and unstable toppings. “It’s good, I promise, try it,” he invited in-between bites.

Spock watched him dubiously, distracted by the way he slipped his fingers into his mouth to lap at them briefly. Had the Vulcan behaved as such in the past? It was scandalous. “With my hands?” he objected, feeling the tips of his ears heat from the lewd display the human was putting on.

Kirk raised an eyebrow at him that told him he had guessed exactly at his line of thinking and was amused by it. “I replicated cutlery for you,” he said with a huff. “And you should eat now before it goes cold.”

The Vulcan nodded silently and picked up a knife, setting about meticulously cutting one slice into tiny, symmetrical pieces.

“Listen, Spock…”

He looked up to find Kirk’s eyes fixed warmly on him, a gentle smile curving his lips. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” the Admiral said, out of the blue. “That was very unfair of me. It wasn’t your fault.”

Spock blinked, surprised that he would even think to apologise for that human reaction, for imparting a sharp rebuke the Vulcan had definitely deserved.

“Forgive me?”

_Of course_ , he thought to himself.

_“Forgive me?” Jim asks, standing before him with his arms locked behind his back, as if restraining motion._

_Sitting on his chair in front of his desk, Spock doesn’t even look at him – can’t look just yet at those eyes that mere hours before had been raised upon him in disgust, can’t listen to that voice that had pierced him with a rejection he had been too foolish, too stupidly smitten to anticipate._

_“I wasn’t myself – my mind was turning into jelly, I…” The Captain takes a deep breath and steps forward, golden hair catching the artificial lights in a fierce glow, proof of his returned youth. “I’m very sorry. I was out of line and hurtful.”_

_“I understand,” the Vulcan murmurs flatly, feeling weak all over, as if McCoy hadn’t cured him of the unnaturally accelerated ageing that had threatened to kill them all, as if he was still old and grey and shaking._

_“No, you don’t,” Jim insists, and finally he unfolds his arms and his hands are in Spock’s space, warm and strong and unyielding as they wrap around his shoulders, begging him to look up, meet that earnest gaze and lose himself in it. “None of what I said is true. It was a lie, Spock, the product of my fear.”_

_His passionate, stubborn tone finally compels him to raise his head, and it’s like staring at the sun and he basks in it because he cannot resist the pull, the gravity._

_“Spock, you’re my friend. I love you.”_

_Those words melt into Spock’s mind like sweet honey – he knows they are not meant the way he wishes they were, and yet it’s as deep a declaration as he will probably ever get from him, and it’s wonderful and unexpected and so very dear. He wants to replay it forever in his mind._

_“So will you forgive me?”_

_Jim is waiting eagerly for his answer, a hint of nervousness on his beautiful face. Spock feels a smile begin to curl his lips upwards and he lets it._

_“Of course, Jim. Of course I forgive you.”_

“Of course, Admiral,” Spock said, ruffled by the sudden flashback that reminded him – he was in love with James Kirk, was he not? He had found his sun in him – reminded him of something he feared he could never revive, and was he even worth such love? “And I do believe you were quite justified in your anger.”

“Maybe I was,” Kirk agreed with a shrug. “But I’m still sorry.”

“Do not be,” Spock pressed, leaning towards him. “It is of no concern.”

_I love you_ , he thought, testing the words in his mind – they sounded empty, but not meaningless, because he realised they had been true for a very long time, and they could be true still, if only he let them.

But he was afraid.

He was not the friend Jim Kirk had loved – not the one for whom he had given it all.

_I have loved you._

That much was certain – though he remembered very little of that time and that feeling past a strange idea of warmth, of peace, of belonging. A playful banter? He wasn’t even sure to what extent Kirk had loved him back, if he had at all in that sense.

Spock glanced at the Admiral and tried to fish for answers in his eyes, but they were unreadable in the nameless affection they displayed. Again, he thought about reaching – and again, he did not.

* * *

 

_It’s the crowded room that breaks me:_

_Everybody looks so luminous, and strangely young_

* * *

Spock felt crowded. He wasn’t being crowded  _per se_ (inside Jim’s house in San Francisco the living room was wide and brightly lit, the windows opened, fresh air pouring in from the sea) but he still  _felt_ crowded, and it was suffocating, an uncomfortable weight pressing against his lungs, pushing the oxygen out.

Jim was not with him, he was talking with Scott and McCoy, laughing quietly, sharing drinks; he moved so effortlessly between his two friends, bestowing easy touches of simple affection upon them with every blink, every radiant smile on his face. His eyes held no traces of pain, his elegant composure impeccable, and again the Vulcan couldn’t help the cold shiver that slid down his spine as he witnessed the human’s capacity for masquerading his emotions.

Alone by the wall, Spock was oddly bereft, watching the strangers he had once called family from afar because he did not belong anymore. He knew not how to rebuild the bonds that once were, and so he kept apart, brain running around in circles as he attempted to collect meanings that eluded him.

His confused mind proposed him vague images of the past that bled onto the present – he felt dazed, detached, and the faces, the smiles surrounding him had a pale glow about them, it was as if he’d been walking amidst a swarm of ghosts, and everyone looked younger and yet at the same time so impossibly distant…

The illogic of the thought was bitter, poison against his flailing shields, but he couldn’t help it.

Uhura was singing and her melodious voice surrounded him, the tone one of hope and comfort which only served to rattle him further, because oh, the Vulcan remembered he used to play his lyre for her, remembered how close they had been, that she was sweet and welcoming and pleasantly witty. But he couldn’t make himself see her that way, see the friend and confidante, the found sister.

She was a mirage, unreal.

Jim laughed and his laughter was contagious, and soon everyone joined in, a chorus of human emotion, human understanding, and Chekov had asked Sulu’s little daughter to dance – they made a funny picture with the navigator (First Officer, he was not twenty-four anymore) bending over the giggling child to hold her puffy hands as she twirled.

Spock couldn’t even remember her name…

With a sigh, he turned around and fled the room, walking down the corridor with a haste unbecoming of a Vulcan, but how could he stay when he so clearly – when he could not – was not –

He pressed his back against a wall, breathing shallowly as he fought the sense of displacement building within his mind, the emptiness that threatened to swallow him. Fear reared up in his stomach, dragging along the guilt he always experienced whenever he allowed his feelings the upper hand, and even as he tried to push them down into silence he knew he was not going to succeed.

But then, unexpectedly, Jim was with him.

His hands wrapped around Spock’s arms, holding fast, steadying him, and his hazel eyes were suddenly all he could see, the emotions swimming in them so powerful they muted his own because he could do nothing but respond, respond to the kindness and concern he was shown, and there was no time for him to ponder if he dared call them love, because the human was frantic and worried, demanding his undivided attention.

“Spock! What’s wrong?”

He’d heard that tone so many times, that exact inflection, soft with a hint of steel beneath, the voice of one who was equally ready to lean in and soothe and lash out and protect, and he blinked at the Admiral, utterly baffled, caught halfway in-between past and present.

“Spock. I want you to look at me.” Jim’s eyes hardened, full of command. “You need to calm down.”

The Vulcan gasped out a breath, shook his head, fingers clawing uselessly at the wall.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Spock opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out but a whimper as he fought to extricate himself from the tangle of destructive feelings he had fallen prey of. Kirk caught his wrists, guided his hands against his own chest so he could touch him, the warmth solidity of his body, the slow motion of his lungs, the steady beat of his heart.

“I’m here,” Jim said gravely. “I’m here, feel me.”

_“I’m here,” Jim says, eyes flashing as he catches his hands and entwines their fingers so he has to stop hurting himself in his frenzied confusion. “Focus on me. Look up.”_

_Spock’s mind aches, reeling from the meld that has gone so wrong, so terribly wrong, and he cannot tell reality from fiction, from the alien images clinging to his consciousness, changing the flavour of his thoughts… He cannot hear, he cannot speak, he cannot see…_

_“Spock, hold on.” His Captain’s grip on his fingers grows stronger, more demanding, and the sensation is so striking that it pulls him up a little, away from the abyss he’s plunged into, and he thinks perhaps he should open his eyes to escape the darkness but it is so difficult to control his own body. “I’m here. Feel me.”_

_The Vulcan flails and shakes but finally he forces a response out of his eyelids, and Jim is so close, so close to him his vision turns golden for a moment. “Jim…” he calls, as if the name alone can save him from the disquieting whispers sliding across his mind. “Jim?”_

_“Yes, I’m here.” The Captain cups his cheeks between his palms, and he shifts closer – their noses brush, the human’s breath comes in warm puffs over his face and it smells of coffee and mint, a curious mix that nevertheless serves to ground him because it is known, familiar. “Focus. Slow down. Breathe.”_

_Spock is distantly aware of the fact that he is shaking, but he tries to focus, to make his mind concentrate on the roughness of Jim’s skin, the softness of his voice. He reaches out trembling hands and curls them into the green wrap-around shirt he favours so much, and his head stops its spinning finally as he inhales deeply through his nose._

_With his exhale comes a moment of calm._

_“Yes, that’s it,” Kirk praises, lightly kissing his temple. The contact is refreshing, a sip of water in the desert. “Stay with me. I’m here.”_

_Out of control, the Vulcan’s fingers crawl upwards, over the human’s neck until they line up at his psy-points, and even though he feels, chilling in his blood, that this might be a dangerous thing, a potentially deadly thing, he cannot help the plea that fills his eyes as he once more struggles for words that will not come._

_But Jim understands, and he mimics his pose, granting consent so easily, without a hint of hesitation or fear. “My mind is yours.”_

Spock grasped the Admiral’s shoulders and sagged against him, closing his eyes to gather himself. Jim’s arms went around him immediately, holding him close, and a wretched sigh came from his form, a broken thing too low for human ears to catch but that sliced through the Vulcan like a knife.

“Hush,” Kirk crooned, ever helpful, ever gentle, forever neglecting himself. “It’s okay. Breathe.”

He did. He breathed in the Admiral’s scent and it was as familiar and calming as he remembered because it was real to him, real and tangible and needed. “Thank you,” he whispered. “My mind…”

“I know,” Jim assured him, and Spock wondered at the things he knew without having to be told, wondered at how seamlessly he managed to read him… “It’ll pass.”

“Yes,” the Vulcan murmured, burrowing into his strength, allowing himself that most undeserved luxury because he had no other choice and because it would hurt Kirk grievously if he refused it. “I am sorry for… for the party.”

“Was it a bit too much for you? I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Spock frowned. “You are not responsible for my well-being, sir,” he said, wanting to lift that burden from the human – and what a burden it must be, to shoulder the troubles of a telepath without hope of reciprocation or even complete understanding.

“But I am, Spock,” Jim corrected him, eyes soft and affectionate as he rubbed circles into his back. “You’re my friend. Of course I care for you.”

To that, the Vulcan had no reply, so he let the Admiral hold him, and held him back in return, clinging to him like a lifeline in the silence of Earth’s afternoon.

* * *

 

_It’s the crowded room that’s never heard_

_No one here can say a word of my native tongue_

* * *

San Francisco’s beach was cold so early in the morning, and yet Spock braved the wind and the humidity, huddled up in the winter attire Admiral Kirk had returned to him the very first day they arrived on Earth. In particular, there was a soft woollen scarf that matched the colour of the ocean at night of which Jim had seemed so very fond of, and he had wrapped it around his face, covering his nose all the way up to his pointed ears.

It was very comfortable.

From the street, he could enjoy the view of the beach below, the waves raging against the shores and the sky, the fine sand endlessly changing shape. And Jim, standing in the middle of it all, his back to him and his eyes on the horizon. He painted a magnificent picture, dressed in his warm reds against a background of greys and blues, standing almost inhumanly still.

Silently, exercising maximum care so as not to trip, Spock descended the steps that lead onto the beach, walking into that alien environment so as to meet his companion; he could have waited for him at home but he was curious, forever curious about what he did and how and why, the places he liked to visit, the sights he cherished.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence – hoping it wasn’t unwelcome – when he stood close enough that he could see the white light of the chilled sun catch onto the Admiral’s golden lashes. “Hello,” he said, a little awkwardly.

The human’s greeting was warm, off-hand, and he turned to him with a grin, hands in his pockets and eyes bright. “ _Nashaut_ , Spock.”

_“_ Nashaut _, Spock.” Jim greets him almost playfully that afternoon, taking his coat as he enters the house swiftly._

_“_ Nashaut _, Jim,” Spock answers with a small smile, and he stretches out his hand to drop a small package in his beloved’s cupped palms. “I have brought you sweets.”_

_“From the bakery next door?” Kirk inquires cheerfully, hopping away into the kitchen. The Vulcan follows him at a more controlled pace, and enters the brightly-lit room to find him standing at the counter, replicating hot tea. “You’re such a sweetheart.”_

_Spock arches an eyebrow haughtily, pretending like he isn’t melting inside from the pet name. “I would advise you consume them now, while they are still warm.”_

_Jim’s laughter is rich, and the Vulcan feels his tension ebb away entirely as he relaxes into his favourite chair, watching the human move about the table in an almost-dance, graceful in everything he does, commanding attention and respect and love with the sweetest of smiles and the most luminous of looks._

_“You sure you don’t wanna share?” Kirk teases, smirking fully now, and Spock resists the temptation to answer in kind._

_“Perhaps,” he says instead, enjoying the sparkle of mischief that enters the human’s eyes at the thinly-veiled challenge._

“I did not remember you spoke Vulcan,” the Vulcan said over the rumbling of the ocean. He stepped closer to the human until they were standing side by side, never lifting his gaze from his, curiosity burning at the back of his mind, overshadowing his worries and fears and regrets.

“You taught me,” Jim told him, raising an eyebrow at him in gentle mocking. “You are one hell of a finicky teacher.”

“I do not doubt it,” Spock mused, equally teasing. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into what had clearly been a routine – one that brought him peace and security instead of the sense of constant uncertainty that had been plaguing him for months. “It is only logical to be thorough.”

Kirk chuckled. “Of course.”

Silence fell between them and the Admiral returned to staring off into the waters, as if inexplicably drawn to their depths; privately, the Vulcan wished they were not quite that close to the waves – or better yet, that they would return home – but he was extremely fascinated by the effect the ocean seemed to have on Jim, and so he was content to watch and suffer the wind biting at his desert-bred skin.

“May I inquire something of you?” he ventured after a while.

“Anything,” was Kirk’s reply, and when had he not offered everything to him?

“Why would you want to learn Vulcan?”

Jim took some time to reflect on his answer. “Because it is part of who you are, _ashal-veh_ , and I wanted to share in it,” he said at last, soft in his tone and his gaze. “And it’s a beautiful language, don’t you agree?”

His use of that word, _ashal-veh_ – a most rare term of endearment, one Vulcans dared whisper only in the safety of their privacy, never in public, never aloud, designing a person as beloved, cherished, darling – upset what little balance Spock had managed in his thoughts, and he had to rebuild his perception of his universe, his very self, around this new, previously unknown variable.

_Ashal-veh_. One who is dear.

But then, it had been obvious in the way Jim treated him, the way he looked at him as if he was a miracle, as if he was light and water and air. He was dear to Kirk and Kirk cared deeply for him, he had admitted as much – so why was the Vulcan surprised? Why couldn’t he seem to be able to catch his breath, meet his eyes? Why couldn’t he shake the feeling of warmth and serenity that washed over him, filling his heart and his mind and his soul?

_Ashal-veh_. It was a beautiful name to own; perhaps he could take it upon himself…

“Yes,” Spock murmured. “I do think it is beautiful.”

* * *

_I can’t be among them anymore_

_I fold myself away before it burns me numb_

* * *

Late into the night, Spock wandered about the house because he could not sleep. The air was tense, ripe with a sense of grief the Vulcan couldn’t seem to shake – it clung to his skin, broken sticky webs that halted his movements and filled his mind with the aching impression of loss.

Darkness surrounded him and he let it, listening…

He thought he could hear the sound of crying, but how was it possible? The apartment was empty save for the Admiral and himself, and Jim would not cry – would he? The very idea had the Vulcan’s stomach turn.

Silently, feeling as though he was sleep-walking, he tiptoed down the corridor, among the collection of pictures that were vaguely familiar, except they weren’t – as soon as he turned his gaze on them they became meaningless, and he fixed his eyes forwards, upset, trying not to see.

The sliding doors to Kirk’s room were open, and Spock peered inside, curious and yet frightened of what he might find; frightened that the sight of the Admiral’s pain might break the weak hold he had on his own feelings, that it would tell him things about him he did not wish to know.

But if Jim was hurting, surely there was some way the Vulcan could help? Something he could do?

“Please, I…” he began uncertainly, taking one step forward but stopping immediately when he spotted the human sitting on his still-made bed, folded on himself, elbows digging into his knees and fingers curled into his hair so tightly the knuckles had turned white. He was shaking, shattered, and the telepath was swamped in the strength of his sorrow and the need he had to erase it.

“May I?” he asked in a whisper. _May I see you? May I help you? May I reach you?_

Kirk jumped. His spine popped as he straightened his back abruptly, squinting into the shadows to look at him; his face was wet, eyes red-rimmed, broken glasses forgotten on the bedside table next to the ancient book he was always carrying around. For a moment, the Vulcan focused on those glasses – the cracks in the lenses a constant reminder of the day Spock had died, died to save him and yet now he couldn’t even offer comfort…

“Ah, Spock,” the Admiral said, a tinge of embarrassment in his broken voice as he wiped at his tears with the back of his hand. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me.”

Spock stood frozen in the doorway and his mind reeled.

_“Jim… Jim…” Spock’s words are frantic and he cradles the Captain to himself as if that somehow would serve to shield him from the pain within, keep him anchored to the world. “Jim, Captain,_ Jim _…”_

_He presses his palm to that alien heart, feeling its already sluggish beats slow into a low murmur, and the human’s chest is heaving against him, breaths fatigued and rasping as his head lolls over the Vulcan’s shoulder._

_The sky darkens above them, little light filtering from the canopy of turquoise trees they are hidden beneath, and Spock forces a layer of calm to descend into his mind, tasting the stifling air as he inhales deeply through his nose. He needs to keep his wits about himself, needs to think clearly, needs to banish the haze of pure terror slicing through him with every whimper that escapes his Captain’s white lips._

_He hails the_ Enterprise _again but receives no answer._

_“Captain, please,” he mutters, racking his brain for a solution that does not exist outside the Sickbay inside their ship that has left orbit per his order – he is the cause of this, he has made the logical decision to send the crew away to safety, ask that they come back in no less than an hour._

_It seems to him as if that hour – sixty minutes, three thousand six hundred seconds – is interminable, as if he has personally condemned his beloved Captain to death, and guilt assaults him as he wonders if he should have prioritized one life against many… And it is suddenly very obvious to him that were he to face such a choice again, he is not sure that he would choose logically._

_The prospect is shattering._

_Unexpectedly, Jim blinks his eyes open, focusing on him, and there’s an unknown glint on his face, a dimmed thing that reminds him of twilight, of a sun that’s dying. His Captain’s hand comes up and it’s cold – cold with the poison that courses through his red blood – cold when it presses against his cheek, offering the Vulcan comfort when he’s failed so miserably._

_“Jim,” Spock murmurs, only distantly aware of how pleading his voice sounds, how desperate. “Jim, are you…”_

_“Shh,” the human hisses softly, merely a breath of words, easily lost into the wind, and the Vulcan leans forward, touching their foreheads together just so he can hear him, hear the proof that he is alive, still alive. “Don’t worry about me.”_

_“How can I not?” Spock reasons, grasping at him, hoping to warm him somehow though he knows his own body heat is insufficient. “Jim, you…”_

_The fingers against his face shift in a rough approximation of the position for a meld, and the telepath opens his mind to Jim’s, listening in enraptured silence as thoughts form like smoke, curling between them._

How long till the _Enterprise_ comes back?

_“Twenty-four minutes, fifty-seven seconds, sir,” Spock answers, and he isn’t sure why he’s speaking aloud, perhaps it is because he wishes to pull the Captain’s attention away from the riotous tangle of feelings rearing up within him. “I shouldn’t have…”_

I can make it _, Jim thinks forcefully at him,_ I can survive until then _._

_The Vulcan tightens his hold around him and dares hope._

There had been a time in which Jim was the name he had given his Captain, the word that defined him and all he meant, all they shared; but that word belonged to his past, and he could not use it the way he had – should not use it, it was not his due, he had not earned the right…

And yet he couldn’t help but think of how selfish he was being, pretending the Admiral himself was not affected by the shift in their undefined relationship, by all the threads that had been rent apart and now hung loose between them, dying.

He kneeled by the human’s side and very carefully placed a hand upon his shoulder, wondering if his touch was as comforting as Kirk’s was to him. “Do not ask me not to worry for you,” he quietly said, looking at the tears drawing paths down the beautiful face, pain that had finally spilled out of its confines, pain Spock wished to erase. “I will always worry about you, Jim.”

The name tasted sweet on his lips, and he berated himself his unjustified fears; he had allowed this human to suffer because of them, because he refused to make so small a concession as naming him when Jim had given him _life_ itself. He wished he knew how to let his emotions guide him, wished he felt secure enough in them to blindly follow them.

“I am sorry, Jim,” he whispered, wondering if he should bridge the distance between them, touch his cheeks and forehead and parted lips, wipe the tears away so they could not hurt anymore. “I truly am.”

Jim turned to him, wet eyes shining unnaturally under the dimmed lights of his room – the guest room, he slept in the guest room in his own house because he had let Spock have the main one – and there was a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth, ready to spring into existence like dawn, if only the Vulcan knew the right words to summon it.

“Don’t be,” Kirk told him, grasping his wrist in a tight grip. “There is no need.”

Spock pursed his lips, upset by his denial, his refusal to let him be of help – but then the Admiral had a history of putting everyone else’s needs before his own. “I believe there is,” he softly objected. Gathering his courage, he cupped the human’s burning cheek with his hand, and nearly recoiled from the powerful emotional transference that bled into his skin.

Absurd, how Jim’s mere mental presence had managed to shatter all his shields completely.

“Spock, I…” Kirk sighed, leaning into his touch as if starved for it, and the Vulcan felt something vital shift within his soul as he witnessed the effects such a contact had on his companion, witnessed the harsh lines of pain melt away into the gentlest of smiles, witnessed those hazel eyes turn golden as they filled in wistful affection. “I’ll be alright.”

Spock shivered, slid closer to him and it wasn’t enough, never enough. “I am afraid,” he admitted aloud, and this time when he searched for answers on the human’s face he found the love he had once felt, the love that had defined him for so long, the love he was fleeing from. Perhaps if he let himself _feel_ it…

Jim pressed his forehead against his shoulder, leaning into him. “We’ll be alright, honey. We’ll be alright.”

* * *

_Oh call my name_

_You know my name_

_And in your love, everything will change_

* * *

Several days after, Spock sat by the table, watching the patches of sunlight streaming in from the window and the dust dancing golden inside the kitchen: Jim was making breakfast, and as he walked around gracefully the dust twirled like a halo, following his movements.

It was such a heart-warming scene to witness, and the Vulcan couldn’t take his eyes off the human, his absent-minded smile and the song he was humming distractedly, messy curls falling upon his forehead and lopsided glasses catching reflexes whenever he turned. The domesticity of it all struck Spock as precious but not rare – not rare because he remembered countless other mornings like the one unfolding before him.

He remembered and it was so beautiful.

It wasn’t a specific memory filling his mind; it was a feeling, a sense of recognition and warmth, the faint imprint of fingers wrapped around his waist and a kiss to his cheek, Jim’s scent clinging to him and their legs tangling under the table, comfortably lazy conversations held as they rushed away to the Academy, the occasional packed lunch and apples stacked carefully inside Starfleet-issued bags.

The impression of lives shared and entwined, of common ground and compromise and belonging found by his Captain’s side…

He smiled a little to himself as he contemplated the truth of that feeling, and perhaps he had uncovered the key to his past – to the meaning of the words he had not dared use, the names he had been too frightened to call. Perhaps he had his answers in the human’s soft tones as he sang that half-forgotten song and guiltily sipped coffee from his second mug.

Perhaps it was enough to _know_.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Jim said, setting a fuming cup of tea before him.

_“Marry me,” Jim says, setting a fuming cup of tea before him one bright morning on Earth. Spock looks up from his Padd, forgetting all about his research and the class he has to teach in less than two hours. He stares at the human’s shining smile, the pride he radiates, and wonders if perhaps he has heard him wrong._

_“I beg your pardon?” he breathes._

_“Marry me,” the Admiral repeats, and his voice is honey-sweet and everything the Vulcan can focus on. “We live together. We share a bond. There’s nothing that would please me more than let the rest of the universe know this too.” He reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against his psy-points, and love washes over him, heady and familiar and safe. “Marry me.”_

_Spock smiles at his beloved companion, he smiles freely and covers his hand with his own even as he stands so they are face to face, impossibly close. “Of course, Jim,” he tells him easily, and chuckles a little when he sees the human let out a small sigh of relief – as if there was a way he would refute such an offer. “Yes.”_

_“Yes?” Jim asks into his mouth, making sure, and the Vulcan is reminded again just how much he adores this man, loves that he never rushes him into this kind of decisions, loves that he is always waiting._

_“Yes,_ ashayam _,” he confirms, pressing their lips together more firmly for an instant before pulling away to let him see the joy burning into his eyes. “Nothing would make me happier.”_

Spock blinked down at his teacup, staring at his own reflection in utter bafflement. The memory was golden and translucent as it lingered in his mind, and his answers had never been closer and they revolved around Jim, around his eyes the way they’d shined the day they had married – he remembered now, remembered the laughter and the flowers cascading around them and the feel of the human’s rough hand holding fast to his own, the light reflecting from their rings as they exchanged them…

Slowly, he set the cup on the table, untouched, and the Admiral glanced up at him, opened his mouth, no doubt to ask if something was wrong, but the Vulcan was at his side in an instant, looking down at him with a sense of reverence building in his heart.

“Jim,” he called, and the human was already reaching for him so he laced their fingers together, as he had so ardently desired since he had come back to life, and he felt like he had wandered the desert for years and only now had come across a sip of water – this was what the simple feeling building into their contact, their mental touch, was to him, water in the desert.

So precious and rare and cherished.

“You asked that I marry you,” he said quietly, carefully tracing every dip and crease and fold of Jim’s hand with his fingers and his lips as the human stared at him in bewilderment and the faint light of suppressed hope. “You shared your mind with me.”

Kirk seemed to be blinking back tears, and the intensity of his gaze was almost too much to bear but for this reason all the more glorious and enchanting, each breath he took warming the air around the Vulcan. “Yes,” he murmured, an echo of Spock’s words not that long before. “Of course I did, my love. Don’t you remember?”

Only then, looking into those eyes that seemed to tremble like candlelight, did he truly understand the nature of Jim’s sorrow, the melancholic sadness tainting his every word, his every gesture – because Jim had loved him, married him. More than that, he had allowed a bond to form, kept it.

He suffered because their bond had snapped the moment Spock had died, and so it bled in his mind, tortured him in a constant dull ache that spilled into a void for there was no bondmate to receive it, heed the cries of his beloved and silence his laments, heal him. And the Vulcan had been so distant, trapped within himself, and he had not heard…

He heard now.

“I had not believed it possible,” he whispered, torn between transparent awe and poisonous guilt. He fell to his knees before this vision that was real – the only one that had always been real, always been there to welcome him, to remind him that he did belong, that he was wanted and cherished. “I… _Jim_.”

Jim was cradling his face with shaking hands, thumbs following the line of his cheekbones as he searched for understanding in his eyes, and for the first time Spock could give him that understanding, return his gaze with equal love and gratitude and recognition. “Honey, you… Do you…?” 

The question was hesitant, left hanging because it was miserable, too miserable, the hope and pain and searching.

“I do,” the Vulcan said forcefully, and finally he dared to touch – he grasped the human’s waist, fingers digging into his flesh, stealing his heat, and he answered Jim’s smile with earnest enthusiasm, feeling exceedingly light and at the same time grounded, stable. “I remember – I remember the meaning of you.”

Kirk nodded, never letting go of him, then pressed a soft kiss upon his forehead _. I love you_ , passed into their contact, and again Spock questioned himself for not giving in sooner to the inevitability of this. The warmth, the _sun_ spilling into his mind…

“ _Ashayam_ ,” he said, wanting to apologise for his tardiness and yet sure that Jim would deny the need existed. Instead he decided to voice the one certainty he had gathered from his still-submerged past, the very thing that served to explain the paths he had taken, the choices he had made. “I do love you.”

And he still could not remember his name for Jim, but he knew it would come, he knew and he was eager to discover it but willing to wait; so precious a thing should not be rushed… And Jim was with him, holding his hands, kissing his hair and his lips and the tips of his ears, embracing him tightly, so tightly he felt his heart beat against his chest, and he basked in their communion, the touching of their minds.

“Let me heal you. Let me have your thoughts.”

* * *

_Tell me it won’t always be this hard_

_I am nothing without you,_

_But I don’t know who you are_

* * *

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” Spock whispered into the darkness.

The faint sound of rustling sheets answered him, then Jim turned to face him, stretching sleepily by his side. “Yes, love?” the human murmured, reaching blindly to him, one hand to his face and the other to his side, over his heart.

Sighing in contentment, the Vulcan curled up against him, nuzzling into the hollow beneath his neck, breathing in the scent of home. “I merely wish to remind you of how precious you are to me.”

Jim laughed softly into his ear, fingers threading through his hair in a slow caress, and Spock pressed a human kiss into his skin. “I know, honey. I know.”

Between their minds, the bond shimmered, strong and thriving, proof of all they were, all they had been and would forever be: secrets and memories and confessions were cradled in the love that had been reconquered, and everything had shifted back into place, everything finally made sense, everything had a name.

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” the Vulcan called again, drinking in the simple truth of Jim’s existence. He touched fingertips to psy-points, deepening their connection to taste the flavour of his beloved’s drowsy consciousness, the richness of his health and the strength of his joy. He would happily lose himself within him.

_‘Where thou art, there is the world itself’_ , Spock thought in passing, briefly recalling a play they had attended after their official wedding. Those first weeks, it had seemed to him as if he’d been living in a dream, and it had taken him long to adjust to the idea that they belonged together so completely, that he really was to spend his life basking in the light of his sun.

It had been so difficult for him to believe…

_‘And where thou art not, desolation’_. Jim completed the quote almost as a reflex, Shakespearian lover that he was, and a ripple of mental laughter passed across their bond, an evanescent echo of the human’s lively chuckle that filled their bedroom in mirth.

“Indeed,” Spock breathed, closing his eyes into the darkness; they still had time before they would have to report to the Academy for assignment of teaching courses, it was only 1.43 am, so he pulled the human closer to himself, relaxing into his embrace. “Sleep now, _t’hy’la_ ,” he purred into his rounded ear, “I will be here when you wake.”

The Vulcan lay vigil throughout the night, Jim’s warm weight in his arms a cherished reminder of where he stood in the universe – _I stand by my shipmates_ – of the vows he had taken years before and reaffirmed now – _I have been and always shall be yours_.

Delicately, he traced the shape of the human’s lips with his finger, and into the quiet, he once again whispered the one name he had been chasing, the name that held all the meaning in his world.

“ _T’hy’la_.”

* * *

 

 

[_Nothing without you_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUJvrqSbXIU), by Vienna Teng

[My Trek Blog!](https://hanasheralhaminail.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> So NaNoWriMo is taking up the entirety of my free time and finishing this fic for November was torture but I could not pass up the opportunity to participate in this beautiful challenge again, so here goes...
> 
> I hope you liked it! Please leave a trace of your passing, I would appreciate it :3


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